


Dad!Markiplier and Child!Reader: Hurt Fingers

by PurpleWarden



Category: mark fischbach - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Ambiguous Gender, Dad!Markiplier, Hurt/Comfort, Mark would be a really sweet father ok, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleWarden/pseuds/PurpleWarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young reader smashes their fingers when looking through the cabinet. Mark is there to help, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dad!Markiplier and Child!Reader: Hurt Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> Because I have dad issues and I couldn't ever find more reader insert where Mark is a father figure to the reader, I decided to write my own just to fulfill my needs. Ever since I got into the Markiplier fandom, Mark's been my father figure and watching his videos always cheer me up.

You were bored and playing around downstairs in the apartment’s living room, your interests jumping between your toys and the television. One of the cartoons you enjoyed watching was playing, and you would pause from playing with your toys to just look and watch the screen.

You had been playing for around an hour before your stomach growling signaled to you that you were hungry. Your dad, Mark, had made you and him some lunch earlier before he had to go upstairs for work. Judging by hearing his shouts from upstairs, he was playing either a rather frustrating game that made him want to pull his hair out, or he was playing a horror game. You recalled one time where you had decided to give him a little spook, and snuck into his recording room. It still made you giggle to remember how shrilled his scream was when you yelled out to him from behind, and you had fled away, resulting in you two to play a game of chase around the apartment before he caught you and gave you numerous amount of kisses on your forehead and cheeks.

Being the little kid you were, you figured you were ‘grown up’ enough to make your own snack without his help. Besides, he was busy. You decided to give him sympathy and not bother him this time. With that, you ventured to the kitchen.

You scanned the kitchen with your eyes, wondering what on earth to fix yourself. A peanut butter sandwich didn’t seem so bad. Licking your lips, you rushed to the table and pushed a seat from it to the counter to where the shelf you recalled your dad having stored the peanut butter. The chair was a little wobbly (dad really needed to change the furniture!) but you didn’t pay much mind to it. All you could think about was a sandwich.

Once balanced on the chair, you crawled atop the counter and sat on your knees. Scooting over so you could open the cabinet door, you scanned the shelves for the peanut butter. Your eyes set on the jar, and you grinned with eagerness. Letting go of the cabinet door, you reached for the jar with your other hand while the other was clutching to the bottom shelf.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t open the cabinet door wide enough for it to keep itself from closing. The hinges had it swing back closed by itself.

Right on your fingers clutching the bottom shelf.

Pain seared from your fingers, and you let out a scream of pain. _Sweet bologna, that hurt!_  You felt like your fingers were on fire.

There was a loud bang from a door upstairs shortly after you screamed, and you could hear someone running down the stairs in a hurry.

“(Y/N)!! ARE YOU OK!?”

Mark was quick to rush into the kitchen, seeing you as a sobbing mess and clutching your throbbing fingers with the uninjured hand. He ran to you, and scooped you up from the countertop. “Oh, sweetheart, what happened??” he softly spoke to you, holding you close comfortingly.

You couldn’t speak much due to your sobbing. “M-my fingers h-hurt!” you cried.

“Ohh. Let me see, let me see.” He took your hurt hand in his, not having to look at it for more than a second to see them beginning to bruise just a little. “My poor baby, you smashed them up good. Here, let’s fix you up.”

Mark set you back onto the counter top before going to the fridge to retrieve the ice pack from the freezer side. Once retrieving it, he returned back to you and gently took your throbbing fingers. “Here, honey, this should help.”

You winced and yelped at the contact of the cold material, retracting your hand back from him a little.

“Shh, it’s alright now. This’ll help with the bruising.” He took your hand back in his and gently set the ice pack on it. You hated how it felt, and your fingers still hurt.

“It still hurts,” you whimpered, swallowing hard. Tears were still coming down your face, but not as hard as earlier. He handed you the small ice pack, and you took it in your free hand and set it back on your hurt fingers.

“I know it does. At least it was with a cabinet door. What the heck were you even doing up here??” Mark questioned, raising an eyebrow at you as he crossed his arms.

“Wanted a sandwich,” you responded.

“Why didn’t you just come and get me? I could’ve made it for you.”

“You were busy.”

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m never too busy for you. If you need anything, you can always come to me. I don’t even care if I’m working, you’re _way_ more important.” Mark gave you a smile and leaned over and gave you a comforting kiss on the forehead, cupping your cheek with his hand and rubbing the stray tears on your face away with his thumb.

You smiled now and after a while, the sharp pain in your fingers dulled away. Your dad always knew how to make things better.


End file.
